


Now and Then and Now

by Multikicker



Series: Slipstream Incident(s) [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 09:31:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21354070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Multikicker/pseuds/Multikicker
Summary: The weight of the past can be heavy. How one chooses to cope with that weight is what matters.Angela and Emily have clearly coped in different ways.
Relationships: Emily/Angela "Mercy" Ziegler
Series: Slipstream Incident(s) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1539325
Kudos: 10





	Now and Then and Now

**Author's Note:**

> I took a while to write this all out. Partly the rampant perfectionism within myself that I'm attempting to utterly destroy, and partly because the characters deserve complete and concrete dialogue and interaction to the best I can give 'em.
> 
> I hope you enjoy.

'All the lonely people, where do they all come from?

All the lonely people, where do they all belong?'

\- The Beatles, _Eleanor Rigby_

Throwing on her lab coat over her wrinkled t-shirt and sweat pants, Angela tugged on a pair of socks and slipped out of her quarters into the hall. Flashing a glance at her watch, she winced. It was 4 o'clock in the morning, and the sun had not yet crested the mountains outside. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she meandered through the empty corridors of the Watchpoint, making her way in the general direction of the Canteen.

Her sleep had been restless, plagued with dark dreams she couldn't recall, and she'd awoken covered in sweat and shaking. _Teach me to double up on the melatonin, I guess._ Still, even with the sleep medication, she'd not gotten the proper amount of rest. Much as she'd like to deny it, that was becoming an increasingly common occurrence. She'd taken to the night like a bird taking wing, and her sleep schedule had suffered as a result. Still, though, 0400...........that was a new record.

Once she reached the Canteen door, she keyed it open, and was taken aback by the warm smell of coffee that wafted out. Peeking into the room, she exhaled in relief when she saw it was just Fareeha, sitting at the small table in the corner, eating breakfast. '_Guten morgen_, Fareeha,' she yawned, entering the room proper and crossing over to the counter. Opening the cupboard to extricate a mug, she was just about to place it under the keurig machine when Fareeha took a sip of her coffee and finally spoke. 'She's doing it again.'

'I'm sorry?' Setting the mug down, she turned to face her friend.

'You heard me.' Taking another sip, Fareeha shot her a meaningful gaze. 'She hasn't slept in two days, you know.'

'I........didn't, no.' It took Angela two attempts to press the 'Brew' button on the coffee-maker, the first going wide and driving her finger into the countertop.

'She's going to get herself killed. One could argue she's actively killing herself by running herself this raw.' Another sip.

'Thank you for telling me this.' Extricating the spent coffee pod, she tossed it into the garbage, the muffled thunk of the impact mirroring the feeling gradually gathering in the pit of her chest. Clutching the mug of coffee, she swept from the room hurriedly, not even bothering to close the door behind her.

Watching her go, Fareeha took another slow sip from her mug, expression grim. 'Just take care not to get sucked down with the sinking ship,' she muttered, going back to her tablet.

* * *

It was dark in the cargo bay, and Angela's eyes too a moment to adjust to the gloom, fuzzy outlines slowly resolving into the shapes of crates as she made her way further into the hold.

And the she heard it.

A dull, scraping noise, metal on stone. A blade, being sharpened.

Rounding the corner, she saw the clearing in the crates, well lit, and as her eyes locked onto the figure sitting in the chair there, the scraping stopped...............giving way to the _n__oise._

_'...th.s.......is Slips....am One.......ipstre......e......I've lost con.............yste...alfunc....n........can't h..d 'er.......tell Em...........ove he............'_

The figure placed the knife onto the table in front of them and stood, selecting a brutal-looking sniper rifle and beginning to disassemble it rapidly. After a moment, it turned to look directly at Angela.

'I knew it was you,' rasped the figure, voice somehow......distant.

It wasn't a question.

'Why are you listening to this?' Angela countered, stepping into the clearing.

'I listen to it every night.' Having finished disassembling the rifle, the figure began reversing their handiwork, sliding parts together in quick succession.

'That's...........not healthy. You know that.' Reaching the table, she placed a hand firmly on the remaining pieces of rifle.

Their rhythm interrupted, the figure stopped, and looked at her.

'I'm not concerned with whether or not it's healthy. It reminds me of my purpose.'

'Emily.' It was involuntary, but she couldn't keep it from slipping out, and so she pressed on.

'You need to rest, you need sleep, and, and _food_, and, and, and you need to stop pushing yourself this hard, or, or I'll............I'll declare you medically unfit for combat!'

Emily's eyes narrowed, and she set down the half-assembled rifle, moving around the table to stand parallel with Angela, and glowered.

Angela matched her gaze. She wasn't about to back down, not about to let Emily destroy herself any longer. This was the line.

After a moment, Emily spoke, a hoarse whisper crossing the space between them.

'Angela.' There was pain there, she was sure, but worse was that it was buried beneath layers and layers of apathy, barely a mote. 'This is all I have left.'

'It's not! You have us, you've got your friends, let us in, let us help, you don't have to take all this onto yourself!' Balling her fists, she shuddered, exhaling.

'Angela.' Emily smiled, but it was wan, not reaching her eyes. 'I don't have any friends. Not anymore.'

'What do you mean?'

'Nobody comes near here anymore. No-one but you. Everyone else............I perturb them. Or they pity me.' Sliding the rifle piece slowly out from under Angela's hand, she slotted it back into place with a loud 'clack'. 'If I cared, I might wonder which was worse. So no, I don't have friends.'

'................am I not your friend, then?' Try as she might, Angela couldn't keep her voice from being small.

Emily stopped cold.

'That's not what I meant, Angie.'

_Angie._ It had been ages since anyone had called her that. Ages since.............. _No._ She crushed the unhappy thoughts underfoot. _There is no way I will let both of us be miserable right now._

'Then....'

'Listen to me.' Moving closer, Emily set her hands on Angela's shoulders, holding eye contact. 'You know that you mean more to me than "friend" could ever sum up. You were there for me,' and she moved closer, pulling her into a hug, 'when nobody else could understand. So you of all people ought to know. I _have_ to do this. It's my purpose, now.'

'Purpose, this, purpose, that! _Mein gott,_ Emi, do you even hear yourself? People don't talk like that, human people don't talk like tha-'

And then it hit her, and she froze, a horrible realisation blooming in her mind like a corpse flower, noxious...........and revelatory.

'You're..............no, not like this, please. Not on _purpose._'

The wan smile on Emily's face thinned, and as Angela looked into her bloodshot eyes, she inclined her head.

'Astute as ever, Doctor Ziegler, and now that we've found our way to the, well............' Apologetically - well, at least, Angela thought so, it was getting harder to tell these days - Emily shook her head. 'Well, the central tension of our chat, shall we say. So, then................got a question for you.'

'You want......you want to ask me a question? You tell me all these things, keep me up, run _me _ragged, worry me for WEEKS, and and all for some grand _question?_ Fine, then! Ask me, and just.......just let me be! Leave me be, please, I can't do this anymore, I can't, and, I, I won't, I _won't_ do this anymore! So just, out with it! Come on! Ask!' Her hands were shaking now, balled up in fists of anger.

Reaching over, Emily pulled the glasses out of Angela's front pocket, and pressed them into her hands.

And, for a moment, the mask slipped, the statue cracked, the vast sadness beneath radiated out from her eyes - and Angela could feel the depth of the pit Emily had dug for herself.

'Be my mirror, love? Tell me what........._who_ you see. And be honest.' Spinning a knife around in her fingers, Emily sheathed it in one of many scabbards affixed to her combat harness. Selecting a pistol from several laid out upon the table, she racked the slide experimentally before holstering it, moving to the centrepiece of the table, the vicious rifle.

Cycling the bolt, she slung it across her back, and the metal clacked against the harness with a dead finality as she reached for her helm.

Standing there, Angela forced her breathing under control. _Not now, Ziegler._ In, out. In, out. _Steady as she goes. Anxiety attack later, not_ now.And then Emily turned, and all of that had to be put aside.

The armour she'd chose was an angular affair, all harsh edges and overlapping geometrics, bulletproof mesh underneath hardened plastic and metal. Multiple hardpoints and harnesses covered the exterior, to which her variety of weapons were attached. The suit was mostly gunmetal, although a muted twin stripe of blue and orange ran down her right shoulder and part of her chestplate.

But............it was the face that unsettled Angela the most. The............mask, for was the appropriate word, she supposed, was an exercise in utilitarianism. The lower part consisted of a respirator unit, and set into the face were a pair of mirrored retinal lenses. As Emily affixed the helm firmly into place, they began to glow a cold, dull blue. When she spoke next, the words were tinny, as if processed through a metal can.

'Who do you see, Doctor?'

Emily _radiated_ menace.

'....................her.' She hadn't intended it to be so hoarse.

'_Which_ "her"?'

'Both of them.' Hoarser still, barely a whisper this time.

'Then your eyes are finally working properly.'

_Gott,_ She even _sounded_ like her.

Angela didn't scare easily. She'd seen war, watched friends die, and been inside the Swiss Headquarters as it shook itself to pieces from Reyes' folly. Those things had instilled a certain........solidity to her emotional state. Usually she cordoned off her fear in a little box in the corner of her mind where it would shrivel and die. Usually.

Right now, in the half-light of the cargo hold, alone with a monster, she was _terrified._

'So you did this all on purpose? Emotional suppression, refusal to face your own feelings, the SEP formula, the training? And for what? To become like them? A living weapon?'

Emily spread her hands in a concessionary gesture. 'You misunderstand me, Angie. I'm not like them.'

'Do I? From where I stand it looks an _awful_ lot like you've been rendering yourself an emotionally stunted combat automaton!'

'By choice. That's the key, isn't it? I asked for this. I want this.' Pausing, she watched as Emily pulled a ring from her pocket and contemplated it. When she next spoke, it was the first time in the whole encounter that Angela had heard her voice seem............small.

'I need this, Ang. I made a promise.'

**Author's Note:**

> I finished this while sleep-deprived. I'd like to think it doesn't show.  
As always, your feedback is greatly appreciated, and I'll be back with the second part..................in the Future. I shan't write checks my motivation can't cash.  
Take care, folks, and remember: the moral arc of the universe is long, but it bends towards justice.


End file.
